“The hospital, but it’s for a friend of mine. I’m...okay...” I didn’t know how to finish that lie, so I let it dangle and drop. “But listen, I didn’t get the job at the Library of Congress, so I’ll be coming home soon, and I would like it very much if you and Dad would have a conversation with me about...” I swallowed hard, my throat ticking and protesting on the name I’d hidden away, but now perched on my tongue with a surprisingly sweet flavor I hadn’t tasted in years. “Sophia.”
And oh my God, it hurt to say Her name, to relive the nine months I’d spent falling in love with her in a split second. Every craving for pickles. Every somersault inside my womb. Every Adele song that would calm her down so I could sleep. Her favorite was “Crazy for You,” and I was. How could I not be?
Tears blurred the number pad on the phone. A sob welled, but I clamped a hand over my mouth to contain it. That guilt I’d shoved away within myself in a tight little ball lay bare for all to see, a pile of needles with sharp points shimmering with all the tears I’d cried for her. The day her adopted parents took her home, I didn’t think I could ever say goodbye to her and survive it. It had gutted me so thoroughly, I knew I would never be the same again.
“Okay,” Mom said, her voice laced with concern.
I nodded into the phone, not quite sure if I was ready to speak yet, but I wasn’t finished. I wouldn’t be finished until I explained to them both that I wasn’t wicked. It was a mistake, a complicated one that had cost me my childhood, but a single moment in time couldn’t define the rest of my existence. I refused to let it, starting now.
“Someone stole my phone, so I don’t have her number.” I sounded calm, collected, like I had rehearsed this conversation in a dream I didn’t remember. “Could you give it to me again?”
“Of course. Let me go get her parents’ letter. They’re all eager to hear from you.” She put the phone down, and shuffling papers filled the line. When she returned, she said, “It’s okay that you didn’t get the job. You know that, right?”
Her words lifted a burden on my shoulders I hadn’t realized I was carrying until it was gone. She didn’t sound disappointed at all. Just...motherly.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Yeah, I know.”
She recited the number, which I jotted down on my hand like a Nicole clone. I promised to call when I was back in Wichita, and then we hung up. It was kind of shocking how little awkwardness there had been during that conversation. Sharing cat video links via email to an actual two-minute conversation. With words. The very definition of baby steps.
And now the biggest baby step of all. I smacked my forehead with the receiver while I plugged more change into the slot because my hands were shaking. If my goal was to have stray hospital visitors slide me wary glances, then mission accomplished.
All I had to do was relax. Be myself. Be myself but toned way down on the quirky scale.
Each number I jabbed on the dial pad thinned the air and tightened the collar of my button-up shirt. Never mind. I couldn’t be myself because I had no idea what to say. Because what if her parents answered? Or what if she did and she asked tough questions? Sheshouldask those questions, but I didn’t know if I was ready to answer them for the single person to whom the answers mattered most.
Somehow, my finger finished dialing, and a shrill ring swamped my body with a cold sweat. I could’ve hung up and done this another day, but I wanted a promise of some kind of future away from Washington D.C., away from heartache, away from Sam.
And that future sounded bright and cheery and delightfully intelligent in the form of a little voice. “Hi, this is the Caladan residence. This is Sophia speaking.”
I gasped at the instant connection that seemed to tug me through the phone. Even though I had never heard her speak, I recognized the sound of her. Her voice solidified her into a piece of myself, and I so desperately wanted to look at her, to hold her.
“Hello?”
I took a deep breath and said the first words I’d said to my daughter in a long time, “Hello...Sophia. My name is Paige Sullivan.”
31
